4

Come, fill the Cup, and in the Fire of Spring
The Winter Garment of Repentance fling:

The Bird of Time has but a little way
To fly and Lo! the Bird is on the Wing.

5

And look-a thousand Blossoms with the Day
Woke and a thousand scatter'd into Clay :

And this first Summer Month that brings the Rose Shall take Jamshýd and Kaikobád away.

6

With me along some Strip of Herbage strown,
That just divides the desert from the sown,

Where name of Slave and Sultán scarce is known, And pity Sultán Máhmúd on his Throne.

7

Here with a Loaf of Bread beneath the Bough,
A Flask of Wine, a Book of Verse-and Thou
Beside me singing in the Wilderness-

And Wilderness is Paradise enow.

8

'How sweet is mortal Sovranty!'-think some: Others 'How blest the Paradise to come!'

Ah, take the Cash in hand and waive the Rest; Oh, the brave Music of a distant Drum!

9

Look to the Rose that blows about us -'Lo,
'Laughing,' she says, 'into the World I blow:
'At once the silken Tassel of my Purse
'Tear, and its Treasure on the Garden throw.'

IO

The Worldly Hope men set their Hearts upon
Turns Ashes-or it prospers; and anon,

Like Snow upon the Desert's dusty Face
Lighting a little Hour or two-is gone.

II

And those who husbanded the Golden Grain,
And those who flung it to the Winds like Rain,
Alike to no such aureate Earth are turn'd
As, buried once, Men want dug up again.

12

Think, in this batter'd Caravanserai

Whose Doorways are alternate Night and Day,
How Sultán after Sultán with his Pomp
Abode his Hour or two, and went his way.

13

They say the Lion and the Lizard keep

The Courts where Jamshýd gloried and drank deep: And Bahrám, that great Hunter-the Wild Ass Stamps o'er his Head, and he lies fast asleep.

14

I sometimes think that never blows so red
The Rose as where some buried Caesar bled;
That every Hyacinth the Garden wears
Dropt in its Lap from some once lovely Head.

15

And this delightful Herb whose tender Green
Fledges the River's Lip on which we lean-

Ah, lean upon it lightly! for who knows
From what once lovely Lip it springs unseen!

16

Ah, my Belovéd, fill the Cup that clears
TO-DAY of past Regrets and future Fears-
To-morrow?-Why, To-morrow I may be
Myself with Yesterday's Sev'n Thousand Years.

17

Lo! some we loved, the loveliest and best
That Time and Fate of all their Vintage prest,
Have drunk their Cup a Round or two before,
And one by one crept silently to Rest.

18

And we, that now make merry in the Room
They left, and Summer dresses in new Bloom,

Ourselves must we beneath the Couch of Earth Descend, ourselves to make a Couch-for whom?

19

Ah, make the most of what we yet may spend,
Before we too into the Dust descend;

Dust into Dust, and under Dust, to lie,

Sans Wine, sans Song, sans Singer, and-sans End!

20

Oh, come with old Khayyám, and leave the Wise To talk; one thing is certain, that Life flies;

One thing is certain, and the Rest is Lies; The Flower that once has blown for ever dies.

21

Myself when young did eagerly frequent
Doctor and Saint, and heard great Argument
About it and about: but evermore
Came out by the same Door as in I went.

22

With them the Seed of Wisdom did I sow,
And with my own hand labour'd it to grow:
And this was all the Harvest that I reap'd—
'I came like Water, and like. Wind I go.'

23

Into this Universe, and why not knowing,
Nor whence, like Water willy-nilly flowing:
And out of it, as Wind along the Waste,
I know not whither, willy-nilly blowing.

24

What, without asking, hither hurried whence?
And, without asking, whither hurried hence!
Another and another Cup to drown

The Memory of this Impertinence!

25

Up from Earth's Centre, through the Seventh Gate I rose, and on the Throne of Saturn sate,

And many Knots unravel'd by the Road; But not the Knot of Human Death and Fate.

26

There was a Door to which I found no Key:
There was a Veil past which I could not see:

Some little Talk awhile of ME and THEE
There seem'd-and then no more of THEE and ME.

27

Ah, fill the Cup: what boots it to repeat
How Time is slipping underneath our Feet:
Unborn TO-MORROW and dead YESTERDAY,
Why fret about them if TO-DAY be sweet!

28

One Moment in Annihilation's Waste,

One Moment, of the Well of Life to taste-
The Stars are setting and the Caravan
Starts for the Dawn of Nothing—Oh, make haste!

29

While the Rose blows along the River Brink,
With old Khayyam the Ruby Vintage drink:

And when the Angel with his darker Draught Draws up to Thee-take that, and do not shrink.

30

The Moving Finger writes; and, having writ,
Moves on nor all thy Piety nor Wit

Shall lure it back to cancel half a Line,
Nor all thy Tears wash out a Word of it.

31

And that inverted Bowl we call The Sky,
Whereunder crawling coop't we live and die,
Lift not thy hands to It for help-for It
Rolls impotently on as Thou or I.

32

And this I know: whether the one True Light
Kindle to Love, or Wrath-consume me quite,
One glimpse of It within the Tavern caught
Better than in the Temple lost outright.

33

Oh, Thou, who didst with Pitfall and with Gin
Beset the Road I was to wander in,

Thou wilt not with Predestination round
Enmesh me, and impute my Fall to Sin?

34

Oh, Thou, who Man of baser Earth didst make, And who with Eden didst devise the Snake;

For all the Sin wherewith the Face of Man Is blacken'd, Man's Forgiveness give-and take!

35

Listen again. One evening at the Close
Of Ramazán, ere the better Moon arose,
In that old Potter's Shop I stood alone
With the clay Population round in Rows.

36

And, strange to tell, among that Earthen Lot
Some could articulate, while others not:

And suddenly one more impatient cried-
'Who is the Potter, pray, and who the Pot?'

37

Then said another-'Surely not in vain

'My Substance from the common Earth was ta'en, "That He who subtly wrought me into Shape 'Should stamp me back to common Earth again.'

38

And much as Wine has play'd the Infidel,
And robb'd me of my Robe of Honour-well,
I often wonder what the Vintners buy
One-half so precious as the Goods they sell.